Blue on Blue
by NorthernStar
Summary: A new form of Crystal Meth has hit the streets of Bludhaven. Dick vows to bring down the makers before it can spread to other cities, but his undercover op is about to go horribly wrong...
1. Evie

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter Rating: PG (over all rating will be R)

Chapter Warnings: Mention of drugs, guns (future chapters – sex, violence, graphic depiction of drug abuse so don't start reading if those things bother you.)

Summary: A new form of Crystal Meth has hit the streets of Bludhaven. Dick vows to bring the makers down before it can spread to other cities, but Officer Grayson's undercover op is about to go horribly wrong...

Author's Notes: Suggested listening is "Bedshaped" by Keane. The song text is not placed here as it would be in violation of the terms and conditions (which, granted, very few people take notice of!)

This story is set somewhere on the timeline around Nightwing #73, when Dick was part of Bludhaven PD. (Purely because I'm more familiar with that era!)

**Blue on Blue**

_By NorthernStar_

**One - Evie**

They called it Blue. And Bludhaven had the dubious honour of being its birth place. It was a new form of Methamphetamine, otherwise known as 'Crystal Meth.' It was twice the hit of its parent drug, for half the price and it was proving to be very popular among the clubbers and students.

The BHPD had done little to stem the tide of addicts and pushers and now bodies were turning up in Gotham.

They had made some progress. Intel suggested that there was only one maker so far. But that would soon change. They had to find the source and quickly, before the formulation could spread. And then it would be unstoppable.

And if it couldn't be done by the BHPD, it would be done by Nightwing.

Dick Grayson hung up his uniform and sighed. He had logged some serious overtime in the last week and would have volunteered for more had Amy not balked at the dent it was putting in the budget. And in a way, he was glad. Because he was tired – bone deep tired.

He rarely _felt_ tired. He often knew he was tired because his reactions would be off, just a fraction, but a noticeable fraction, but he rarely experienced the yawning, aching sleepiness that affected most people. He had always assumed that was to do with the way he was raised. He'd been worked hard as far back as he could remember, first by his parents and then by Bruce. And an adolescence that had included a full day's school and a long night's patrol had trained his body to run on little sleep.

But tired or not, he couldn't stop. This thing was spreading. He just didn't have time to sleep.

Dick made himself and strong, sugar laden coffee and gulped it down.

His laptop beeped and at the touch of a button brought up Batman's face. He frowned. There was always something vaguely disconcerting about addressing his mentor while he was in the cape and cowl and Dick was just in underwear and a tank, like he'd been caught goofing off while the rest of the world worked.

"_Have you made any progress?"_

"Some. I'm watching the Vox nightclub. One of the OD's went there the night they died. I talked to one of his friends. They witnessed him buying the Blue from a dealer inside."

"_You have a name?"_

"Possibly. Jimmy Finch has been mentioned."

"_But?"_

"I pulled his rap sheet. Finch has never dealt Class A drugs before."

There was a pause. Nightwing wondered if his reference to his police career annoyed him, but on something like this, Officer Grayson could do more groundwork than Nightwing ever could.

"_This is spreading."_

Dick frowned. "Another victim?"

"_A student from Gotham_ _State."_

Nightwing thought he could detect reproach in his mentor's voice.

_I'm sorry._ But he didn't say the words aloud. He knew that it wasn't his fault, but somehow knowing another Gotham citizen had died because of something that had come from _his_ streets made him feel guilty.

"_If there's a dealer in Gotham, I'll find them."_

Batman's face blinked out.

Dick went to his concealed closet and took out his costume.

When he pressed the mask in place, he closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths before dropping into warm-up stretches. Then he slipped out the window and fell up into the black.

---

She was pretty, under the mop of lank blonde hair. Nightwing watched her. He wondered when she'd last eaten. Her bones stuck out and there was a hollow look in her eyes. She must have been freezing, dressed in just dirty jeans and skinny T, when the temperature was just a few degrees above zero.

Her name was Evelyn Jones – Evie – and Officer Grayson had busted her for possession of heroin a number of times. Now it looked like she'd moved on to Blue.

He continued to follow her, moving silently from rooftop to lamp top as she wandered the alleys and passageways behind the Vox nightclub. Eventually she stopped and hung around outside the back delivery door of the nightclub, hiding in the shadows.

A group of men came out of the nightclub and walked past her. Nightwing doubted she'd been seen and something about the way they scanned around for watchers told him she'd better stay hidden.

She was about to break cover when an unmarked car drove up. The window opened and then Nightwing's view was cut off as the men stood round.

Nightwing frowned.

The car backed away.

He was about to go after it when he caught sight of Evie stepping into the light. She had her hand out and Nightwing could see green between her fingers. She was trying to buy.

He cursed softly as the men surrounded her.

Nightwing leapt off the building, using the opposite wall to slow his descent, and landing softly on the ground.

The girl screamed.

Nightwing cut through the men easily, swiftly disarming one when he pulled a gun. Another had a knife, which he swung carelessly and without any skill. A lightening fast kick sent the weapon spinning away into the darkness.

The girl snatched up something that had fallen to the ground in the tussle and ran off. One of the attackers broke from the fight and pounded after her. Nightwing cursed, but he still had two of her attackers to deal with. The first fell easily, the other at least had had some martial arts training but he quickly followed.

A shot rang out.

Nightwing sprinted after the sound, swinging up and over a fence, and then down a narrow gap between two buildings. Halfway along, he found her body.

She had been shot from behind and the bullet had exited her chest. He could see the shattered remnants of her sternum poking out of the massive hole.

He knelt down.

Incredibly her eyes flickered open.

He quickly instructed Oracle to get an ambulance, but he knew it was too late. She would bleed out long before any help came, if the terrible damage didn't kill her first.

"Evie?"

Her lips moved and a sound that might have been a sob came out.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Nightwing pulled off the mask covering his face.

He saw recognition in her eyes and one skeletal hand grabbed at his chest. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Blue…" She hissed, "…lines."

Dick squeezed the hand that still clutched at his front. Only an addict would ask for a line of their drug instead of an ambulance.

"Blue…" But it was barely a whisper now and her grip slacked until her hand slipped limply from his.

Dick watched the light fade in her eyes.

Then he pressed his mask back in place and disappeared into the darkness.

---

Dick barely made it in time for roll call the next day. Evie rated only a brief mention and he doubted the detectives would give her murder more than a few hours, if that, before filing the case away.

When the briefing ended, he was called aside by Amy. She also summoned another of the new recruits, Jessie Hayes.

Standing with Amy was one of the detectives from Drugs, Owen Andrews and Amy introduced them both.

"You've heard of the Vox?"

"The nightclub where Jane Tyler bought the Blue?" Jessie answered.

Andrews nodded. "We're going to put a couple of officers in there, buying Blue, getting to know the sellers."

"That's where you come in." Amy told them.

"We're pretty stretched as it is and frankly, we'll stick out like sore thumb in that place. We need someone younger." Andrews told them. "Someone who the dealers will sell to, someone they might trust to start dealing for them." He paused. "Someone _I_ can trust."

Jessie's face lit up.

"Amy recommended you, Dick. And Jessie, you'll be his support."

"This is optional. You can say no." Amy told them. "If you don't think you're ready-"

Dick cut in. "I'm ready."

TBC…


	2. Dust

**Two – Dust **

Five days in and they'd made little progress. Both Dick and Jessie had bought some of the softer drugs like Ecstasy from the barman at the Vox and had at least become "faces" known to the dealers. Andrews seemed pleased at least, and had given them the green light to move on to the next phase of the operation.

Dick pulled on the criminally tight jeans he had bought for this. The first night at the Vox had told him two things. The first was that he had _never_ been that young and the second was that his wardrobe needed an overhaul.

"_Mmm…work it, boy wonder!"_

Dick turned to his laptop. Barbara's smiling face filled the screen. He wondered how long she'd been there.

"_Partying again?"_ She teased. "_Any more of this and you'll knock Bruce off the top of the playboy lists._"

"I'd rather be Wing-ing it." He said as he pulled out of couple of tight T's he'd bought along with the jeans. "I hope this operation is over soon."

He caught the frown she gave him. "_Finally regretting becoming a cop?"_

"No." And he wasn't surprised to find that was the truth. "It's just kind of different. It's not the kind of night work I'm used too." He held up the T's as he spoke, eyeing the colours. "It's good having a partner though. Jessie's a good cop." He flashed Babs a grin. "Maybe Nightwing should get a sidekick."

Dick finally decided to go with the blue T and put it on. He was completely unaware of the silence that met his words. He turned to the monitor as he smoothed the T over his lean muscles. If she wanted a show, he'd at least put in _some_ effort.

"_The red's better."_ There was a hint of tension in her voice and he frowned.

But a sharp knocking on the door stopped him from asking her what was wrong.

"That'll be Jessie." He told her.

Babs blinked out.

Dick answered the door. Jessie grinned at him. She was wearing the tiniest dress he ever seen, but her hair was less groomed than it usually was and she'd applied her make-up in a way that gave her eyes a faintly hollow look, like she was hungering for something.

She caught him looking. "Think it's OK?"

He let her in. "They'll go for it."

"I hope. If Jimmy Finch really does supply the barman, he'll be a hard man to convince." She looked around. "Nice place."

"It's OK."

"Kind of wish we were wired."

Dick shook his head. "Andrews is right. It's too risky."

"Risky for who? Not sure I trust him to have that back-up he promised to have outside if we needed it though."

Dick didn't either, but since he hadn't ever _needed_ back-up, it hadn't bothered him.

"We'll be OK. I doubt we'll meet Jimmy tonight. It'll probably take another day or so."

"No offence, but I hope not. I'm beginning to hate that nightclub." She picked up a photo, the one of him and Bruce in Greece when Dick was 11. "This your dad?"

"Yeah. No!"

She looked questioningly at him.

"That's Bruce. He raised me." Dick laughed and quickly changed the subject. "We'd better be going." He said as he snagged the red T. "Just need to change my shirt."

"Keep it on. That colour's great on you." She told him. "The red won't look half so good."

----

The music was pounding, bass so deep he could feel the vibrations inside him. Dick winced. If he wasn't deafened by the end of the night, it would be a miracle. Bruce had trained his hearing years ago, and he suspected a few nights here might undo years of work.

Jessie was saying something, but hearing her was out of the question. He read her lips. Then nodded.

Dick felt a thrum of excitement as they pushed their way through the ravers to the bar. He saw Jessie hunch over, hugging herself, like her stomach was cramping.

Dick caught the barman's eye. "Two beers." He said, handing over a folded note.

The barman pulled the beers and went to get the change. Another barman brought Dick's change back on a plate. The dollar bill was also folded.

Jessie snatched at the dollar like she was desperate. Dick hid a smile. She was quite an actress.

_Time for act two!_

Jessie's face fell when she opened the dollar. Dick caught a glimpse of the baggie of white powder inside it. Then she began yelling at Dick. Even this close, close enough to feel the heat of her skin against his own, he couldn't hear her.

Dick summoned the barman again.

"Got anything…colourful?" Jessie yelled out, holding out a crumpled twenty.

"Not for that."

She turned pleading eyes at Dick. "Richie, please?"

Dick swallowed some of his beer and dashed the dollar not from her fingers. "That's all you're getting."

Jessie scooped it, and the little plastic baggie that peeped out when it fell, up and hugged it to her chest. "I need more."

Dick just swigged at his beer, ignoring her.

She turned desperately to the barman. "Look, you know me. My cousin owes me some money. You'll get it."

Dick laughed cruelly and the barmen threw him a grin.

"I'll pay double. When I get the money." She leaned over closer to the barman. "Please. Hurts."

The barman leered down at her breasts.

She shifted under the gaze. "I could work." It was a whisper lost to the music.

The barman chuckled.

"I've sampled the merchandise." Dick sneered. "Wouldn't pay for that." He warned the barman. "Real disappointing."

"I-I work in a high school." Jessie told him. "Lots of kids. I could sell."

"Sure you could, honey." He spat. "Sell it right up your nose."

Jessie trembled, eyes filling with tears. With a sob, she hurried off to the toilets.

"Guess she won't be needing this." Dick said, and took a long draught of Jessie's beer.

The barman chuckled. "Where'd you meet that mess?"

"At work."

Dick noticed that the barman looked interested. "You work in school too?"

"I'm one of the youth counsellors."

"Which school?"

"Milvern." He replied, and cast silent hope that Andrews had sorted his cover out.

The barman chuckled. "Guess you get to lecture the kids about the evils of drugs."

Dick shrugged. "Sometimes." He forced himself to finished Jessie's pint.

"Ain't that a conflict of interest? Do as I say, not do as I do, huh?"

Dick frowned. "I don't."

"No?"

Dick shook his head.

"Smart boy."

He held out his hand. "Richie. Richie Brown."

The barman's grip was firm. "David."

Dick ordered another beer. His stomach protested the last two, but it was an excuse to keep talking to the barman.

David brought him his beer. "You know, your friend's right. There's money to be made at school."

"That's not what my bank account says."

David laughed. "You should put a little colour in your work." He told him. "Spread it about."

Dick nursed his beer. "I could use some extra cash…"

---

Jessie watched Dick and the barmen laughing together. She tried not to let the unkind comments bother her. It was part of the job.

She began to push through the crowds to get to the door. Outside, she got out a cigarette and lit it.

She touched her hairclip.

---

In the car across the street, Andrews watched the young woman readjust the clip in her hair.

He smiled. "He's in."

---

It was nearly dawn when Dick finally left the nightclub. He had waited for David to close up, as the barman had asked.

When David was finally finished, he led Dick out the back door of the club and then to a pick-up. They both got in and David drove off.

Dick could only silently hope that they were being followed. And if they were, that they were being discretely followed.

It didn't take long from them to reach their destination. David pulled up in the underground parking area of a rundown apartment block. A man Dick instantly recognised as Jimmy Finch was sitting in a car opposite.

They all got out.

"Who's this?" Jimmy demanded as soon as he saw Dick.

"Richie. Works at Milvern High." David told him. "I know you wanted to move into some schools, so I-"

"You ask me first before bringing anyone in!" He snapped. "Kid could be anyone."

"Look, I know him."

"How well?"

David never answered. His eyes fixed on something behind Jimmy. His face went white.

A car rolled to a stop behind David's pick-up and Jimmy's Peugeot, effectively blocking them in.

Dick's body fell unthinkingly into a ready stance.

Jimmy turned. He looked as sickly as David.

Several heavily armed men exited the car. Then another man.

"Jimmy, I warned you." The man's voice was light.

"I don't want any trouble, Mr Lines."

_Lines…_ Evie's words echoed in Dick's ears. She hadn't been asking for Blue, she had been trying to warn him. What had she meant? Who was this man?

"I own Blue, Jimmy." Lines said. "Only I get to deal it. I warned you."

"Look, take the money, OK?" Jimmy gestured to his car. "Take the Blue. It's all in the truck."

Lines nodded at one of his heavies, who went to Jimmy's car, smashed the window to get the keys and then went to the trunk. He opened it and liberated two large packets of Blue, ready for cutting, and a padded envelope full of cash.

Dick was itching to move, to put them all down. But he needed information and for that, he had to keep still.

"It's not enough." Lines told him. "See, I have the monopoly on Blue. I wanna keep it that way. Now when you started dealing with me, I warned you not to double cross me. Then I learn you're cooking up your own…"

Jimmy's voice trembled. "I swear to you, Mr Lines, I-"

One of the heavies back handed him across the mouth.

"I warned you." The man reached into his jacket.

Jimmy's legs gave out. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." He pulled out a gun.

Dick reacted. He hit Lines swiftly, knocking the gun clean away. Then everything went to Hell.

Dick quickly put down another two of the heavies, but the next was proving more of a challenge. Bullets flew from the automatics, the sound echoing off the walls, and keeping out of their way was proving difficult.

Jimmy had run the moment Dick had intervened and had been quickly cut down. David had followed Dick's example and flung himself at one of the armed men. More from sheer blind luck than skill, David had managed to wrest the rifle from his opponent and was spraying bullets everywhere.

Dick could hear sirens coming closer. Andrews _had_ followed him and was sending in the cavalry.

One of the men jerked as David shot him, the bullets ripping into him and into the packets of drugs he held. Blue coloured powdered methamphetamine clouded up, as thick as a dust storm.

_Don't breathe, don't breathe…_ Dick kept up the chant as he twisted in the fight until he put the man out.

Where was Lines?

He couldn't see. His eyes watered. He was fighting blind.

He wasn't fighting anyone at all.

He heard wheels screech and the corner of the car clipped him as it past. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs.

He gasped.

TBC...


	3. Flight

I know I promised the next chapter at the weekend, but (cough, cough) a bad cold held me up. Sorry!

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**Three – Flight**

He felt a rush of sensation, beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. It was pleasure. It was joy. It was warmth and completeness and it was so huge and perfect that everything else in the world blinked out.

Dick was the warmth; he was the pleasure, the joy, the completeness. It seemed to go on forever.

It began to fade all too soon. It didn't go, but the edge was taken off and something of the world around him filtered past the incredible sensation. He wanted that intensity back.

He could hear voices now and sounds and there were faces, staring into his own.

He stared back, downing in the warm joy.

---

"Jesus Christ, he took a lungful!"

Jessie's words were muffled under the cloth she held over her mouth and nose, but Andrews could still hear the fear in her voice.

Getting Grayson away from the area was Andrews' top priority so he grabbed one of the young man's arms, slung it round his shoulders and half carried, half dragged Dick out of the underground parking and on to the street.

Once outside, Andrews propped his burden up against a wall and knelt down beside him. He checked the young man, gently cradling his head and tilting it back so he could see his pupils. Then he pressed his fingers to Dick's neck. He felt the rapid beat of a pulse, racing like he'd run a marathon.

"Kid's flying higher than a kite." He told her. "But I think he'll be OK." He looked around at one of the officers. "Ambulance?"

"On its way."

"Let's hope they bring a bucket load of downers." Andrews stood up, and ignored the indignation on Jessie's face. If she mistook his levity for lack of concern, that was her problem. "Anyone call Haz Mat?"

"Collins did."

Dick made a sound, a jumble of something that was trying to be words. Jessie shushed him and stroked his hair. Andrews shook his head. _Women!_

---

More and more of their conversation was bleeding through now. Most of it was mere noise but gradually Dick made sense of it. And two things stood out. The first was that Lines was gone and no-one seemed to care, and the other…

The other was that paramedics were on their way and they would take the joy away. And they didn't need too. He didn't _want_ them too. He felt strong and alive, unstoppable.

Dick got to his feet.

"Dick, sit down."

He shook his head. How could he be still when he had so much energy and…power? He felt like Superman.

"I'm fine. Jess, I'm really, really fine."

"You're not fine, Dick. Hell, you're trembling!"

"No. Lines. That was what Evie said."

She looked confused. "Evie?"

"I saw him. I saw Lines. That's what she said. Blue lines. I thought she meant lines of Blue." He laughed as it suddenly struck him as funny. "But she didn't." Why didn't they understand? "We have to go, I have to go, we have to go now!"

"Dick, the ambulance is coming, OK?" She was looking behind him as she spoke and he turned. The ambulance was pulling up.

Jessie left his side to greet the paramedics as they got out and fill them in. Her attention was off for less than a minute, but that was more than Dick needed.

He broke into a run, leapt onto a car roof and from there up onto the ambulance. He heard his name being called but he didn't care. Because he was full of bliss and he was moving and he had never been so in tune with rooftops and crisp night air.

The urban jungle welcomed him home.

----

The computers in the Clocktower monitored everything. Most it was simply filed away, ready to be accessed if it was ever needed, but they were programmed to recognise references to the superhero community and alert Oracle to them.

Babs was only half listening to the spiel of one such alert but she snapped to full attention at the sound of the name that had triggered the alert. She frantically tapped at a few buttons, feeding the police band radio through her main speakers.

An APB filled the room. "…Ayson, repeat, Officer Richard Grayson, last known location 5th and Beakerman. Please detain. Officer is in need of urgent medical attention."

_Dick!_

What the Hell had happened on that undercover op?

Babs immediately began tapping away at her keyboard. Dick's GPS trace blipped up but the little dot was at his apartment - with his costume, no doubt.

_Damn!_

She looked at the time at the corner of her screen – 05:20 – almost dawn. Her fingers moved over the keys again. She could only hope Batman was still out there.

---

When Andrews had finished yelling at Jessie for letting her guard down, his face had turned beet red. She had wanted to point that Dick was one of their own and he wasn't under arrest, but it sounded too much like an excuse so she kept it to herself. But his attitude made her angry. It wasn't her fault.

She half listened to the APB Andrews was putting out. Her anger had begun to fade and worry was creeping in. She told herself that it wouldn't be long before Dick was found and taken to hospital. How far could one strung out kid get?

But something niggled in the back of mind – intuition or just dumb fear – that told her Dick would be harder to find than that.

"Better call his next-of-kin too." Andrews said. "If the kid checks out on us before we bring him in, they'll be Hell to pay."

"I'll say." One of Dick's colleagues, Gannon, chipped in. "You'll never guess who his dad is. It's-"

---

"Batman?"

The Dark Knight growled out a response. "_Here."_ From his GPS trace, Babs could tell he was in the Car, and headed back towards Bristol. Going home.

Babs tapped some buttons. "It's Dick. The BHPD have an APB out on him. Something happened last night."

There was a pause. It wasn't unusual for police forces to have APB's out on vigilantes. Very few ever came to anything other than frustration for the cops. "_You said Dick. Not Nightwing."_

"He was working undercover for the PD. I'm relaying the broadcast." She tapped some more buttons, then let the worry leak into her voice. "Bruce, he's injured."

Batman made no reply. And the communication snapped off.

TBC...


	4. High

Thanks for all the reviews so far. This chapter has been edited to conform to a PG-13 rating.

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**Four - High**

He spun through the air, gripping his knees, head tucked in. How many rotations could he get in before he hit the ground? Dick counted five, then six with a leap of his heart, then straightened. The ground was nearer than he'd thought but it didn't matter. He stretched out and caught the flat beam of a lamp. His arms screamed in their sockets as they took the brunt of freefall. He spun back up, around and around the pole to lose some of the momentum, his bare hands burning at the friction, until finally he judged his speed had lessened enough and let go. But he still landed heavily, both ankles spiking with sharp pain.

He looked up at the building he'd just jumped off, so far above him and silhouetted against the first hues of the crimson dawn. And laughed.

He'd always wanted to do that. Just let go and fall. And fall and fall…

And now he had.

It wasn't enough. His body itched for more. More movement, more air, just _more_…

It needed something - a craving that went deeper; a needier, base and visceral hunger.

_It's the meth_, some small part of himself recognised. _Just the meth_…

But it wanted. It wanted so badly…

----

"Now who on God's green earth visits a girl at this hour?"

Bridget Clancy opened her apartment door to see Dick Grayson. And he was dressed to kill. He flashed her a grin that might have been apologetic but for the look in his eyes.

She would have given almost anything to have seen that look a few months ago.

"Dick?"

But things were different now. She had Aaron. She was _happy._

He didn't reply, just moved forward like lightening. His mouth latched onto hers.

_Sweet Jesus!_

"What-?" She managed to gasp out. But even though her hands rose to push him away, they stopped half way, palms pressed against his lean muscles.

Dick's lips left hers, but remained just millimetres from her own. "I want you." He hissed.

And God, she could feel that he did, hard against her thigh.

She looked in his eyes, so close to hers and reached up to stroke his cheek. He was damp with sweat, like he had a fever, although he didn't feel overly warm. She could feel him trembling against her.

"You're sick."

"It's nothing. I ran over here."

"You live upstairs."

He nipped at her lips and shook his head. "Ran. All across town. Jumped. Flew. God, it was beautiful." He kissed her again. "You're beautiful."

"Dick, don't." But she couldn't pull away.

He walked her forward, closing her door behind them. Somehow his leg found its way between her thighs. She wore no underwear beneath the over-sized T-shirt she'd slept in and she moaned softly.

His lips caressed her neck and the hands that were placed on his shoulders to keep him away went limp. The whole of her went limp and she found herself quickly backed up against the wall, his solid, warm frame pressed against hers. He smelt wonderful, musky with a faint hint of expensive cologne.

Dick paused a moment and looked into her eyes again, breathing heavily.

_Oh God…_

He was gorgeous, beyond gorgeous, and he felt so _good_ pressed against her, touching her. She'd wanted this so much a little while ago. She still did. It was wrong, so wrong to do this. Aaron, that girl Dick was with, what was her name? (Did she care?)

He was waiting. Trembling, desperate, but waiting; waiting for her to make her choice.

She ran spread fingers up into his thick hair and pulled his mouth down onto hers.

----

Bruce Wayne walked quietly up the stairs of 1013 Parkthorne Avenue, noticing some small changes since he'd last been here. The place didn't look half so run down as it used too and the stairwell had lost the faint odour of urine that had been so noticeable before.

He could hear a couple making love loudly and someone was playing deep base music above, probably to drown the couple the out.

Bruce finally got to Dick's door and let himself in. The place was messy, as always. Dick never could keep his room clean.

He began a swift appraisal of the police files and personal data files Dick kept. Then he searched the computer, quickly accessing Dick's hidden files. There was nothing of Nightwing's activities, which were presumably buried deeper on the system that he had time to go. Perhaps Tim could find something, but he guessed it was a waste of time. That wouldn't stop him from ordering Tim to look though, such arrogance as to think he was right without covering all the bases could be fatal.

There was nothing he could find beyond some rough notes Dick had written about his previous undercover op and those were mainly about the Vox and the barman, things Bruce had already learned from Dick in their conversations.

His jaw clenched. He hadn't wanted to go to the BHPD, but it seemed he had no choice.

Bruce quickly returned all of Dick's files to there original places and left the apartment. As he hurried down the stairs, he missed a door open behind him.

----

Dick stepped quietly out of Clancy's door, shutting it softly behind him. He swiftly went up the stairs to his own apartment, let himself in and went to the computer. There was something out of place and he frowned, but he decided it wasn't important.

He began to tap buttons. A grin spread across his face. Hacking was such fun.

There were seven men over the age of 18 whose surname was Lines in Bludhaven, four of whom had criminal records. He started with them, but when he got up their faces on the screen, he didn't see the man he'd met that morning.

That left…other means.

He tried local papers first. And hit pay dirt.

He found Lines on the front page of the August publication, about local business men donating money to the Earthquake Relief Fund.

Gregory Lynton Lines, who ran a relatively small but profitable investment company based at the docks. Dick could guess what sort of "investments" he specialised in - loan sharking, with probably a number of over-board investments and loans providing respectable cover. Not that the BHPD would care either way, as long as a cut of the profits found their way into the pockets of the PD.

Dick tapped up his address.

He smiled. It wouldn't take long to get there.

He shifted in his seat. He was hard again.

Lines wasn't going anywhere.

He had time.

----

Clancy awoke to the feel of lips ghosting over her skin. She opened her eyes. Dick smiled down at her, blue eyes so very…_blue_ right now. Bluer that she'd ever seen them.

He was beautiful, black hair tousled and flopping over his brow.

_I must be insane…_

But she pulled him to her all the same.

----

"_Wayne_ _residence."_

The voice on the end of the phone was formal, and held a flat quality. British, Andrews guessed.

"This is Detective Andrews of the Bludhaven Police Department. Could I speak to Bruce Wayne?"

"_I'm afraid Mr Wayne is out on business, sir." _The reply was polite. "_Perhaps I could take a message?"_

"I need to speak with Mr Wayne in person. Is there another way of contacting him? It is important."

There was a pause. "_I shall endeavour to get in touch with him on your behalf."_

Andrews stifled a sigh. _Damn playboys._ Wayne was probably still in bed… and probably with some bimbo half his age. Still, the man had managed to raise Dick, and although Andrews had only been working with Grayson for a week, he already respected the young man. And that had to count for something.

"Could you have him contact me as soon as possible?"

"_Of course."_

Andrews hung up.

----

He couldn't sleep, couldn't lie still anymore. There was so much energy coursing through his veins right now and the breeze from the open bedroom window called to him. The air smelt of smog and a faint saltiness that came from the docks.

Dick wriggled free of Clancy's grip and she murmured in her sleep. He quickly dressed and then went to the window. A faint thought tugged at the back of his mind that he shouldn't do this in the brightness of morning, but he didn't care.

He wanted to fly again and jumped out into the chill air.

---

Andrews headed back to his desk. He'd spent a fruitless hour in despatch, hoping to hear a report from the officers on the street. He would have been happy at just a sighting of Dick, if not a report of his capture…even the discovery of his corpse.

But nothing.

It was like the kid had vanished off the face of the earth.

There was a man waiting at his desk. He was tall and impeccably dressed and while his face appeared to be open and guileless, his eyes were a different matter.

Andrews could see the hint of a storm in them.

The man held out his hand to shake.

"Bruce Wayne." He said.

TBC…


	5. Low

The previous chapter has been edited down and this story is now rated PG-13.

Thanks for the reviews!

**----------------------------------------------------------------**

**Five – Low**

"I see you got my message." The detective said.

Bruce kept his features completely neutral as he shook the man's hand. "Of course." He lied.

"I didn't expect you to come in person."

"I was in the area."

"This concerns Dick Grayson." Andrews told him, gesturing at the seat beside his desk. "He was taking part in a police operation, I'm afraid I can't be more specific than that, for security reasons and he was exposed to some methyl amphetamine."

None of the cold knot that clenched inside of him at that word showed on Bruce's face.

"You might not have heard of it. It's a street drug. The type Dick has been exposed to is a new formulation."

"Blue?"

The detective's face registered surprise. "You keep well informed."

"I'm dating a newsreader."

Bruce saw the man's lips twitch and whatever respect Bruce had just gained in Andrews' eyes was promptly lost. As he was supposed too. "Blue is a very potent drug. It's-"

"Where is Dick now?" Bruce cut in.

Andrews didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know." He admitted.

----

Dick was in the sky. His feet sometimes touched the ground – hit the ground – but it was the sky that he saw. The easterly wind smelt of brine. The tide was in, bringing the ships. He could hear them, far off, bells and horns and creaking metal. He was master of it all.

----

Of all of the morning's debacle, Greg Lines loathed the loss of his car the most, ditched and burnt out on the slim chance that the cops had seen it. The loss of Finch on the other hand…

He hadn't liked Finch – not that he liked any of the handful of lowlifes who dealt Blue for him – but it was different with Finch. Finch was weak and money-hungry to the point of foolishness. Lines had only taken him on because Finch had contacts, and a regular bunch of dealers selling everything from crack to Ecstasy for him. That had made him useful. Losing Finch meant he have to either make those connections himself, or take an unacceptable cut in his profits.

But he still missed his damn car more.

Lines watched his right-hand man, a sweaty hulk of a man called Ron Heaton, stacking the large bags of blue "rocks", the crystallised meth in its pure uncut form, into the concealed compartment in the back of his car. Heaton was one who took the risks, whose job it was to supply the dealers and collect the money. Lines didn't like him much either. But at least the man was not stupid.

"Pity about Finch," Ron said.

"Finch was a liability. One I've put an end too."

"But that leaves us a dealer short."

"_Me_!" Lines snapped. "It leaves _me_ a dealer short. And there are plenty of people willing to take his place."

----

It wasn't even noon. Nightfall was hours away. It would be unwise for Batman to appear in daylight. He had, when absolutely necessary, but this was no where near that desperate.

_Yet_, a voice inside him whispered.

Bruce's fingers tightened into a fist. There was very little Bruce Wayne could do – other than be fretted at and consoled by corrupt and useless officers whose main concern wasn't finding Dick, but making sure _they_ were not held accountable.

Dick was strong. He would get through this.

His phone rang.

"Bruce Wayne."

"_It's Babs."_ He noted tension in her voice. "_That…report_ _you requested is ready."_

"On Declan Shipping?" Bruce said, for the benefit of listeners. "Excellent. I'm on my way." He hung up and turned to Andrews. "If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend too."

-----

Andrews returned to his desk. For a moment there, he'd almost liked Bruce Wayne. But what sort of father, adopted, fostered, whatever, went back to business when he learned his kid was out there somewhere, shot to gills full of an illegal drug?

Maybe he just didn't get how much shit Dick was in, right now?

Or maybe…and Andrews remembered those eyes, so full of worry that he couldn't _quite_ hide…maybe he was just burying his head in the sand?

His phone rang, sharply.

"Detective Andrews." He said.

"_It's me. I mean it's Dick,"_ came the breathy, too fast reply. "_Look I got a lead. I can get to the source. Did you sort my cover?"_

"Dick listen to me, you need to get-"

"_My cover?"_ He snapped. "_Is my cover OK?"_

"You need to get to a hospital!"

"_I NEED MY DAMN COVER!"_

"The cover at the school? Yeah, that's still in place." Andrews decided to try a different approach. "Where are you?"

"_No time. No time. I can stop it. I can stop Blue!" _His voice dropped to a whisper. "_It's what I do. It's what I've always done."_

"Dick you're in no shape to stop anything!"

"_I'm fine."_

"You're not fine. Let me call you an ambulance."

But the only response he got was the dial tone.

Andrews slammed down the receiver. "Dammit!"

-----

Land, tuck, roll, up… The docks were getting closer. He could smell the sea.

Running hard, leaping, fingers gripping a ledge, pulling himself up, turning his body almost upside down, over the ledge, scrapping his ribs…

Lines, Lines, Lines…

Up on his feet again, running, jumping off into the salty air, flipping over as the wind screamed in his ears…

"_It's what I do. It's what I've always done."_

Thud.

"_Hey, Batman, we're gonna do this forever right?" _

Running, the sound of his feet against the tarmac…

"_For as long as we remain effective."_

"_Like I said, forever!"_

"_Forever's a long time, Robin." _

The peel of a car's brakes squealing, echoing in his head. Dick's hands thumped against the warm hood, body tucked and rolled. The metal made a hollow sound as he got to his feet. And leapt…

"_Forever's not long enough when you're flying!"_

"_Only Superman flies."_

The vibrations as he hit the roof of a passing car felt like heat in his veins. Car horns blared. He jumped again, tucking into summersault.

He had barely come out of the roll when he hit the ground, smashing into the gutter…

"_You can fly, Dickie."_

"_But Dad, only Superman flies."_

…but he twisted, using his momentum until he rolled back up onto his feet.

"_Superman and us!"_

Dick laughed as he broke into a run. He jumped when he got to the building, fingers snagging on the bricks, muscles straining as he pulled himself up. Ledge, window, guttering…

Up and up and up…

…until he was standing on the top of the housing block, feet balancing on the edge.

Dick stepped up onto the safety railing that ran along the edge. Such a narrow bar… Acres more room that he needed.

"_The most important thing is to have balance."_

Almost too easy.

"_That goes for life in general, kid, not just under the Big Top."_

Dick began walking along the bar.

Then he began running. The corner was coming up too fast.

"_I do fly, Kory, in my own way."_

Turn, turn, turn…

Dick ran out of ground. His feet hit air.

To everything there is a season…

"_Hey, Batman, we're gonna do this forever right?" _

-----

Bruce skimmed through the data Babs had compiled as he drove through the streets of Bludhaven, one eye on his laptop, the other on the road. The chemical composition and physiological effects of Blue he read carefully. There were a number of treatments available that would help get the drug out of Dick's system and all were, fortunately, stocked in the Cave. He would have Alfred bring them immediately.

The police reports were not particularly enlightening but they did confirm Bruce's belief that Dick's actions were not down, completely at least, to the drug in his system, but to the drive to get justice done.

Alone.

_There are some lessons I should not teach._

And then there was the scant CCTV footage showing brief glimpses of Dick free running his way across the city, oblivious to the fact he was in his civilian identity. None of those momentary appearances gave Bruce any clue as to where the young man was going. Dick was too well taught to leave a trail, even for the Batman.

He sighed and once again questioned his choice in making the Robins final test to be running The Gauntlet. As Dick had shown on the couple of times he'd run away, it made it absolutely impossible to find them if they didn't want to be found.

Bruce reached over and clicked up another police report. He froze.

_David._

The barman at the Vox, currently under guard at Bludhaven General Hospital, was alive.

And he was probably the only man alive who'd seen what Dick had seen.

----

Lines watched Ron Heaton's car pull away. When it was out of sight, he turned to go back inside. He heard a soft _thump_ behind him and he whirled around. His bodyguard, Baker, moved a lot faster, gun out and cocked long before Lines had finished turning.

It was a boy. He looked a little familiar.

"Greg Lines?" The boy asked.

Then it clicked into place. This was the young man who'd been with Finch.

Baker levelled his gun at the kid, almost poking him in the ribs with the end. But the boy seemed completely at ease with the weapon, cocked and ready to cut him into shreds, being shoved in his chest.

"You have an opening for a dealer." The young man said. "I'd like to apply for the job."


	6. Crash

Thanks for the reviews!

**Six – Crash**

"_I know you think I'm holding you down,_

_But I've fallen by the wayside now…"_

"You worked for Finch, didn't you?"

Dick felt the man's sharp eyes on him. How much did Lines know? Had he guessed Dick had only just met the dealer before Lines blew him away?

It would be a gamble to say yes, better to stick with the truth. "Yes." What the Hell? The truth would be harder to work with.

"You clean?"

"I don't have a record if that's what you mean."

"Because you're too smart for that?" Sarcasm dripped off his words.

"Because I haven't been in this game for very long."

Lines looked him up and down. "Long enough to get yourself hooked, kid."

His stomach felt hollow. "I don't take drugs."

"You're sweating." Lines told him. "You can't keep still." He stepped closer and put his face right next to Dick's. "There's blue in your eyes and I don't mean the colour."

"Mistake." Dick licked his lips. "When you shot Finch, there was a lot of Blue in the air." He heard his own words, and vaguely recognised them as unwise, but he felt sure he could handle Finch knowing he was a witness to Finch's murder. "I…I got some up my nose."

Lines roared with laughter. "So the junkie maker becomes a junkie." He looked at his bodyguard, who also grinned. "How ironic! You believe in retribution, kid?"

_Bruce, is it…? Isn't it wrong to take revenge? _

_This isn't revenge, Dick. It's retribution._

"Since I was 8 years old," he said firmly.

Lines clapped him on the shoulder. "Well I never have." He said. "Let's go get a drink and you can convince me."

----

It was woefully easy to slip past the guards. A white coat was all it took to blend into the hospital staff and have both of the officers assigned to David simply ignore him and continue chatting about some party the night before. It made the carefully applied make-up and expensive ID of "Dr Joseph Malone" hardly worth the work he'd put in.

_And Dick likes working with these people?_

The room David was in was small and dark. He was lying half awake with an IV dripping slowly into his arm. The gunshot wound to his shoulder was neatly bandaged and presumably he'd been treated for the toxic effects of the Blue.

Bruce leaned over the young man. "David?"

-----

Lines poured Dick a large whiskey and handed it over, inviting Dick with a wave of his hand to sit down in the armchair. Lines, himself, took his place on the overstuffed sofa, with his bodyguard hovering at his shoulder.

The house was surprisingly modest, given the amount of money Lines was making. But Dick was at least aware that, compared to grandeur of Wayne Manor, even a palace might be considered modest.

Dick sipped at his drink, the burning liquid tasted funny in his dry mouth.

"How does it feel?" Lines asked. "The Blue? Never tried it myself."

_Like I could run forever._ The answer whispered at him. _Like I don't want this feeling to ever go away. I've never felt like this. So strong. So complete. _

"Good." He admitted.

"What about sex?" His voice was like velvet. "You wanna know why we call it Blue? Because there's a little sildenafil citrate in the mix and it can make your balls go blue if you don't get some."

Lines and his bodyguard roared with laughter.

The bodyguard came closer, roughly taking Dick's chin in his hand and tilting his eyes to the light. "I think he's already had some." He sneered. Dick jerked his head away.

Lines smiled. "Bet you want more."

He did. Of course he did. The urge in his veins; a warmth spreading through him. It was like an ache…

The bodyguard grabbed at him. "Tough shit, little boy."

Dick pulled away, even though the touch felt like silk, hand coming up like lightening and gripping the man's wrist.

He squeezed. Hard.

"Baker!" Lines warned.

His chuckle was edged with pain. "Just having me some fun." But the bodyguard backed off

"What's your name, kid?"

"Richie." Dick replied. "Richie Brown."

"Well Richie Brown, what makes you think I need another dealer? And why that should be you?"

----

"I don't know…" David's voice was but a whisper.

"Describe him." Bruce's voice on the other hand was like steel.

"Average…brown hair…just _average_."

"Do you know Richie?"

David's eyes fluttered shut, then open. "Works at a school?" The words were stronger now.

"Yes. He was with you." _Push,_ Bruce warned himself, _but not too hard._ "Who shot you?" He'd asked this question before, and he'd keep on asking it. "Who shot Finch?" Until he got the answer he wanted.

The answer that would lead him to Dick.

"I told you…I don't know."

"You will tell me!"

David shook his head, "no…no!"

Bruce put his hand over the IV cannula and squeezed. David cried out in pain.

"You. Will. Tell. Me." He said and moved his hand to the bandage and applied a gentle pressure. Enough to warn, but not enough to really hurt. "Now give me his name."

The fingers flexed once over the wound.

David whimpered, shaking his head.

Bruce's grip tightened.

"Finch…called him Lines." David yelped out. "Mr Lines."

----

"Milvern?" Lines sat back on the sofa. Dick had run through his cover story of being a youth counsellor and had access to almost all the students - students who partied, students who wanted stay up for hours on end, students who wanted to be waif thin, all queuing up for Blue – but the words wouldn't come fast enough and he had abandoned his seat and began pacing. His limbs felt awkward and moving helped calm the agitation.

Dick crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. "It's across town."

"I know where it is." Lines watched him pace, head moving from side to side like a spectator at a tennis match. He gestured at Dick's abandoned chair. "Sit down."

Dick forced himself to sit, but he continued to fidget. His stomach felt sick and the nausea was getting worse.

"Baker."

The bodyguard nodded, coming up behind Dick and placing his hands on the young man's shoulders. It was an easy grip to break but Dick guessed that was the point – Lines seeing how much he could take.

Well he could take a whole lot more than this jerk could give, and he could dish it back with interest.

"I admit I'm interested." Lines told him. "Of course I'll have to check you out."

The hands on Dick's shoulders were flexing, warning him, probably, itching to give out pain. The fingertips were moving just a fraction. The tickle of sensation was distracting, making Lines' words distant and hard to follow.

"I have some…friends." He was saying. "People who can confirm these things. Finch was useful but he was sloppy. You could be a cop."

The fingers froze. And then pressed down. Hard.

"I'm not." Dick's voice was thick, his tongue like lead in his mouth. The fingers relaxed, shifting a bit, heat against him, like the heat growing in his groin. His body didn't care about reality.

"No." Lines agreed although Dick could barely hear him over the roaring of his heart. "I doubt you are. I don't have much respect for the BHPD but I don't think even they would allow an undercover officer to run around on Blue."

Dick licked his lips, wriggling to calm the warmth pooling his innards.

The bodyguard slid his hands down Dick's body, getting a better hold. His skin felt the movement like a stroke and he swallowed a moan.

"Stop it." He murmured.

----

The kid was hurting now, Lines realised. He glanced at the clock, counting the hours since Finch's death, when Ritchie claimed to have taken the Blue.

Nearly 12 hours.

It could get rough after the first 10 or so, when the body starts to crash. But it would take another day or so for the drug to be gone from his system.

"Stop it!" The kid said. His voice was horse.

Baker glanced down and Lines watched in satisfaction as his bodyguard saw the lump in the front of Richie's jeans. He wondered how long it would be before his guard noticed the effect his simple hold was having the boy's Blue enhanced senses.

"You little fag-!" Baker grabbed the kid, pulling him to his feet, obviously ready to pound him.

The kid got in first, hitting out with surprising force. Lines watched the fight with interest, but made no move to break it up.

Richie was obviously trained in the martial arts, and even the drug induced violence a meth crash could stir up couldn't entirely be the reason for the sheer power in the kid's moves. Maybe the kid would be useful after all.

Baker had a good 100 pounds and at least an extra foot on Richie, but the kid had him down and pinned in less than half a minute.

Baker gawped up at Lines from the flat of his back.

Lines smiled. "Let him go."

He could tell the kid was having a hard time conquering the rage the chemicals in his system were stirring up. But after a long moment, the boy obeyed.

Richie stood up. Lines studied him. He could see the trembling of the young man's body, and the fight had done nothing to ease the arousal pressing against the denim.

"You're coming down." He told him.

----

Dick swallowed. Was that what this was?

Lines went to the drawers at the end of the room and opened one. He took out a small baggie and held it up. Dick could see a handful of small blue rocks.

"I can make it go away." Lines said.

Dick looked at the drug, eyes following it as Lines came back across the room. He was tired now. It wasn't easy anymore.

_Maybe just a bit?_ He thought. _Just enough to keep going?_

He needed to be clear headed if he was going to bring this bastard in.

Lines held it out.

It wasn't like he was going to carry on taking it.

Dick took the packet.

TBC…


	7. Burn

Another slightly edited chapter, keeping this PG-13. The original story will be up soon on my own website, sans cuts.

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Seven – Burn**

Bruce watched the horizon from the library window, his shadow cutting a long black streak through the beautiful yellow-orange light that filled the room. It gave the mahogany furniture, and the red bindings of the books, a deep burgundy glow.

His mother had loved this room, especially in the winter sun. She would stand here, just as he stood, watching the gorgeous colours. He had never appreciated what she saw until…

Dick had done his homework here, so very long ago. Why the boy was drawn here, Bruce would never know, but he had preferred this place to all the others in the mansion.

And Bruce would stand here, as he was now, ready to help the boy if needed, watching the sun go down. He would always think of his mother and finally understood what she was looking at.

The encroaching night…

Had she felt, somewhere inside her, that the night would play such a role in her future? In the future of her son? And of her…grandsons?

She always seemed sad when the sun disappeared. Bruce would only feel a chilling thrill.

And Dick…

Dick would put his school books away, leave his childhood behind, in this room, and the pair of them would descend into the Cave.

_Not long now…_

-----

Dick sat on the edge of the toilet, turning the packet Lines had given him over and over in his hands. Inside was such a small rock, a little blue crystal of meth meant for smoking.

He didn't have a pipe.

That realisation brought him up short.

_What am I doing?_

He dropped it on the floor. Then picked it up.

He got off the toilet and turned to hold the drug above the bowl.

His trembling hand caught his eye. He tried to still it, but the shaking continued.

He let out a choke and turned to sit back down on the toilet. He bent his head over his knees, pressed his face into his hands. He could feel the packet against his cheek.

----

The blazing sun at last kissed the horizon. Bruce let a slow breath and turned his back on the splendour that had so captivated his mother. He began walking towards the clock and its hidden entrance.

By the time he pulled the cowl down over his face, it was dark.

----

_Batman?_ _I'm…I'm… scared._

_It's OK to be afraid, Robin. It takes a brave man to admit it. _

Dick raised his head.

_Just don't let it consume you._

He dropped the packet.

_Be clear headed._

Dick moved his foot, putting his shoe over the packet.

_Acknowledge the fear, then put it aside._

He crunched the rock beneath his heel.

_What if I can't?_

Now it was powder.

_You can, Robin. You already are._

Dick picked it up. Now it was easy to snort.

-----

Alfred watched the Car roar out of the Cave. He closed his eyes.

----

The empty packet lay tossed on the floor at his feet.

He leant against the wall, forehead pressed against the hard tiles. He remembered Clancy's softness and wanted nothing more than to have her here, so he could bury himself in her body and not have to think anymore.

He ached. Everything ached…

He reached down and shifted until he was free of his briefs, wanting release, wanting to burn away everything in head under the fire of orgasm.

----

Lines smiled when Dick finally returned. "I was wondering where you'd got to." He said, looking right into Dick's eyes.

Could he tell? Dick could smell the scent of sex of himself. Could Lines?

A hollow sense of shame settled in the pit of his stomach. But at least he was thinking again.

Maybe.

It still felt like he'd lost control, lost track of what he was doing.

_It's what I do. It's what I've always done._

"I have something to show you," the man continued, "now you're…feeling better."

He led Dick to the back of the house.

"I'll have to check on you, of course." He said. "But if you come back clean, perhaps…we can do business."

He stopped at a small rug and kicked it back. Underneath was a wooden trap door entrance that probably led to a wine cellar.

Dick frowned. "What's in there?"

"Heaven's Gate." Lines smirked and lifted the gate. "Inside is where we make Joy."

The staircase was narrow, hewn out of oak beams and probably dating back to the days of prohibition. It creaked loudly as they descended. The cellar was cold but the room was well lit by strip lights.

There was no wine here, only tables.

And the tables were covered in Bunsen's and strewn with dirty foils - the tools for the production of meth.

Lines picked up a newly created rock of methyl amphetamine. This one was a little larger than the crystal he'd given Dick.

"It's pure. Uncut." Lines murmured. "This little beauty is worth over $500. When it's cut," he shrugged, "anything in excess of a thousand."

"That's…quite a profit."

"For the right dealer." Lines put the rock down. "But I'm afraid that's not you."

Dick felt a chill run through him.

"It's a pity, because you'd have a great business going, working at a school." He told him. "But you know about Finch and I can't take the risk."

"I'm only want to deal. I don't care about Finch."

"You promise to keep my secret, huh?"

The sarcasm sounded dangerous and Dick tensed, confident of his abilities. Lines would prove no match.

"Oh, you'll keep my secret, Richie. Just…not the way you planned." Lines smiled. Such a cold smile. "That rock I gave you. It was uncut too." He laid a hand on Dick's shoulder. "You've OD'ed, son. It's only a matter of time."


	8. Fire

**Eight – Fire**

The Car sped towards Bludhaven, a dark streak on the roads. The hands that gripped the steering wheel were full of tension, quick to react when a shadow darted across the road. The Car swerved sharply and one hand left the wheel like lightening and caught the small fabric roll just before it was thrown off the passenger seat.

Batman moved it up, securing it with the belt. It could not be lost.

----

Lines watched the kid closely. He seemed to take the news of imminent death without even a flicker. Although with the massive dose he'd been given, it was hardly surprising young Richie wasn't feeling any pain.

The boy looked around the cellar. "You make all the Blue here?" He finally asked.

"What's the matter with you, kid? Don't you get it? You're gonna die!" He snapped. "You're not going to be part of this."

Richie turned back to him. "I know. Just asking."

_What the hell?_ "Yeah, all the Blue's made here."

"Nowhere else?"

Lines frowned. "I like to keep a lid on it." Something wasn't right. "I own the…copyright."

"That's good." Richie said. "That makes it easier. For me."

And the kid reached over and flipped on one of the burners. The little flame jumped eagerly to life.

Lines backed up in terror. "Holy-! Kid, turn that off!" The little shit just grinned manically at him and started up ending the various bottles of ingredients. "The fumes are toxic!" But even as he said the words he realised that wasn't going to make much difference to the kid.

"Flammable too." Richie agreed and continued turning all the taps on.

Lines turned and yelled up the steps. "BAKER! Turn on the extractors!" He screamed. "Turn them on NOW!"

Gentle whirring filled the cellar as the extractors came to life followed by footsteps on the stairs as the bodyguard descended quickly. "What?"

Lines relaxed, just a little and got out his gun. "An OD would have looked better. Less questions to answer." He snapped. "But I guess a little…donation…to the police will ensure the gapping hole in your chest will prove no problem to me. A pity. I do so hate having to cut in to the profits."

And he fired.

----

Dick kicked the gun as it went off, feeling the reverberation travel up his leg like he'd been hit by a sledgehammer. The shot went wild and as he threw himself at Baker, he was aware of Lines frantically turning off the Bunsen's.

Somehow that made him angrier and some corner of his mind recognised that his kicks were just a little too vicious, fists thrown violently, with intent to harm.

He wanted them to hurt.

He threw Baker at Lines, and roared as the pair went down in a tangle. He piled in on them, anger unstoppable, pounding into the combined flesh beneath him, uncaring who he hit or what part of them, just so long as he was connecting with flesh.

All he could see was Evie, chest open, eyes open. Dying.

And his own hand, holding a packet of Blue, shaking with the drug in his system. Dying?

No. Not dying.

Not today.

----

Batman made his way through Lines' house. He had swiftly put out the guards and there didn't seem to be any inside.

There didn't appear to be anyone inside.

_Dick…_

As he moved silently to the back of the house, his ears caught faint sounds and his heart beat picked up.

Fighting. He could hear fighting.

He followed the sound to the open door of the cellar. Bright light poured out of the opening.

He didn't care for the light.

----

Dick continued to pound, even as he heard the soft whoosh of a Batarang, even as the strip light shattered and the place was plunged into semi darkness, lit only by the small glow of the Bunsen's.

He hit and he hit and hit…and it felt good.

"STOP!"

His fist froze.

Lines' eyes stared up at him, full of terror.

"Stop." Batman repeated, quieter this time, but still firm.

Dick let go of the dealer. Lines slumped down.

Dick stood up and faced the only person that could stop him, the only one that ever could.

Bruce and Dick locked gazes, Batman and Robin, Mentor and Protégé…

----

Batman stared at the young man. Looked into those very blue eyes and their dilated pupils – _Blue on blue_, he thought absently. He laid a hand on Dick's shoulder.

They had so much to talk about.

But first things first. He took the fabric roll from his belt and unravelled it, revealing a filled hypodermic syringe.

"Your arm." He snapped it out like an order.

"I'm fine."

"You're…high." Even the word was distasteful. "Your arm."

"I don't need it." The young man said, and for some reason, he looked not at Batman when he said it, but at the Lines. "I'm in no danger."

Batman frowned. "It will help you come down."

"I know. And that means sleep. But I…I need to finish up."

Those words hung in the air. They stared at each other.

"Get the police." Dick finally said.

Batman glanced at the pair of crumpled men. But he trusted Dick and respected that this was _his_ town.

He nodded.

---

Dick watched him go. "I need to finish up." He repeated softly to himself, echoing the words Batman had said so many times to him as a child.

_Wait in the car. I need to finish up._

Oh how he'd come to hate those words as he'd grown.

But he understood them now. And why it was necessary.

There were some things that shouldn't be seen.

Batman shouldn't see this.

Dick went to Lines and knelt down. The man's eyes were starting to swell shut.

----

Lines felt sick the moment he heard Richie say he was in no danger. He should have guessed. The kid was too coherent. If he'd OD'ed, he'd be a jittering wreck by now, or in a coma, or possibly both.

"You…knew…it was…pure, didn't you?" He squeezed out, using lungs that ached with every word.

----

Batman walked to the Car. One hand still held the full syringe. The other made a tense fist.

-----

Dick smiled and it felt as if it was every bit as cold as Lines' had been. "I flushed the Blue." He heard himself say and found himself almost believing it.

No, it wasn't a lie. Not really.

He _had_ flushed the Blue - most of it anyway. All but a small pinch – just enough to keep going, to keep the tiredness at bay. He needed to finish this.

_Be clear headed._ His mentor had reminded him. And he had.

"I guessed you might try to kill me."

His masturbation hadn't been just about the sing of the small amount of Blue up his nose, nor the much needed brief clearing of his thoughts. It had made him sweat, made him look…high.

"I'm not going to die today, Mr Lines." He told him. "Blue is."

----

Andrews had seemed bothered by the Batman's call. He could hear it in the detective's voice. But he sounded relieved that Dick was OK and had apprehended the drug maker.

If Andrews was the cop that Batman guessed he was, it wouldn't take long before they got here.

He looked at the syringe in his hand. As soon as Andrews arrived, it was going in Dick's vein. Whether he wanted it to or not.

And a faint twist in Batman's stomach reacted to the '_or not_.'

He began walking back towards the house.

Light and heat suddenly lashed over him and he was thrown on to his back.

The fireball lit the sky like the sunset he'd watched.

_Jason…Jason…Jason…_

Flames licked over the house, casting everything orange.

He couldn't lose another son to the fire…

TBC…


	9. Wreckage

**Nine - Wreckage **

His eyes saw the fire, the flames leaping, devouring, the thick cloying smoke billowing up into the sky and felt the heat searing the uncovered portion of his face. But in his mind, he saw another fire, felt another heat – so long ago now and yet never long enough.

His skin itched and bit, but he revelled in the pain. It kept him alive, kept him in the moment…kept him going.

The front door was a mass of flames, impenetrable.

_No_…

Batman ran further around the house. There had to be a way in.

His teeth ground into the rebreather in his mouth.

He'd _make_ a way in.

The sound of sirens was getting closer – patrol cars, wagons….ambulances too.

He hoped they had someone to save.

----

Andrews saw the glow in the sky over Lines' house long before he saw the fire and cursed. Damn vigilantes.

He reached for the radio and called it in. He hoped the fire service got there in time.

But the moment the car screeched to a halt outside the house, he doubted there would be much left but cinders.

---

There was less smoke at the far end of the house. He could barely see the stretch of well kept lawn, but he felt the softness beneath his tread. There would be a window or a door he could access here. The fire hadn't reached this part of the house yet.

As he ran along, Batman's eyes caught on something in the centre of the grass - shapes hidden in the smoke.

He knew in that instance it wasn't Dick. And his gut instinct was confirmed a half second later, when he sprinted over to the bundle and found Lines and his bodyguard, neatly tired, sheltered from the blast by blankets thrown across them.

The badly beaten pair were awake, blinking helplessly up in terror.

He swiftly checked them over.

"Where's Dick?" He demanded, pulling Lines up into a sitting position.

Lines groaned in pain. "Wh…who?" He coughed out.

"The boy."

"Ri…Richie?" Lines dissolved into coughing. "Crazy…kid. Blew the place up." Then he choked out something like a laugh. "Blew himself up too."

----

He had dragged them further up the lawn, away from the encroaching smoke. He had wasted time, precious time, saving them when he should be saving…

No.

Dick was good. The best. If there was a way to survive, he'd survive.

He _would_ get out of this.

Batman found a window. The glass had shattered in the heat and the glow coming from inside told him the flames would soon block this entry too. He climbed in quickly.

The heat inside the house was incredible, the brightness of blaze hurting his eyes. Even the resistant weave of his suit wouldn't protect him that long. Unprotected, he would have been overcome in minutes.

_Dick_…

He knew if he found him, it would only be a body.

But if even if there was a million to one chance he'd survived…and if anyone could be that one, it was Dick.

No, he had to be sure.

Batman kept his sweep as professional as possible, but stayed longer than he should have, double checking where a single check should have sufficed. He knew it, accepted it.

Dick would do the same for him.

But he found nothing.

_He's not here, he's not here…_

The whisper in the back of his head kept him moving, even as the heat began to overwhelm him. He didn't know if it were a prayer, or instinct, or just old fashioned denial, but it kept his legs moving, step after painful step…

…until he finally stumbled from the house, eyes blurring with unshed tears and fell to his knees on the grass.

----

Andrews stared at the bent figure. Gotham's Dark Knight. He hadn't really believed when the Batman had called in that he was really talking to him…but now. Now here was the proof.

He ran over and heard his own voice jabber something that tried to be "are you all right?"

Batman's head came up, looking him right in the eyes. Andrews took an involuntary step backwards. Then recovered himself.

"Where's Dick?" It didn't come out nearly as confident as he had intended and cursed himself for acting like first year cadet. What was it about this…freak that bothered him so much?

The cowled man stood, looming over Andrews. His face was like stone.

_How the hell does he do that?_

"The man responsible for Blue is over there." The Batman said and held out a spread hand.

"You said Dick was here, where is he?"

A flinch – just a very fraction of a movement – surprised Andrews. So there was a human being under there after all. Then a cold chill ran through him at the thought of what might pull a reaction like that from such a man. "Was Dick in there?"

Nothing. Stone again.

"Goddamn you, WAS DICK INSIDE?"

----

The man's anger lashed over him, but like the willow tree at the manor, he went with the flow, unaffected by its harshness.

He looked beyond Andrews – eyes drawn to movement – to a shadow on the rooftop in the distance.

He stared at the inky figure and felt some of the tension inside him bleed away. He knew that shape and form better than any other. He'd watched it grow, fill out and mature.

The shadow stared back.

Batman waited.

In the blink of an eye, the shape was gone.

A flash of rage consumed him, came lashing out heedless, turned on the man still yelling in front of him.

"NO!"

Andrews stop mid-rant and flinched back, face blanching white.

"He's gone." Batman ground out.

The detective swallowed, moving back. "Gone?" He repeated.

"He's drugged, not thinking." He told him. "He ran."

_From me, _echoed in his head.

----

Andrews watched the Dark Knight stalk away. At the back of his mind, he was aware he was missing something. But then the fire truck arrived and he was pulled away to co-ordinate the services and arrest Lines.

When he looked round for the Batman, he was gone.

-----

Where would he go? Dick had been awake now for nearly 50 hours, body pushed to its limits. As the drug left his system, as the exhaustion began to eat away at everything, as he fell into depression… What would he do?

Damn it, he knew Dick better than anyone. He'd raised the boy, trained him, shaped his very thoughts, his beliefs.

_Where would he go?_

Dick had done what he'd been taught to do, drug or no – found the maker of Blue, brought him down, and destroyed the factory…

The case was finished. It was over now.

_Or just beginning…_ The thought made Batman shudder.

Where did they go when it was over?

It was simple.

Where they would always go…

_Home_.

----

He didn't know why he'd come here – to this desolate place. The wind whipped so harshly over the hill that even in summer it was bitterly cold. In December, it was freezing.

He looked up into the sky. Dawn was approaching; he could see the first light brightening the clouds.

_Why here?_ He thought and shivered.

Even when he lived here, all those years ago, he rarely visited. It always felt like he was intruding. Like he wasn't really welcome here.

But the tombstones of the Wayne's offered him no explanation.

"Dick."

He turned towards the voice.

Batman stepped out of the shadows and pushed back his cowl.

TBC…


	10. Detox

**Ten - Detox**

He had first considered Dick's home, but instinct told him no and a quick check with Babs confirmed this. It had taken a few minutes to find the location of Haly's, but the circus was touring in Europe. That left…

Wayne Manor.

Batman had called ahead, but Alfred reported no signs of Dick on the surveillance cameras. That wasn't necessarily conclusive - Dick of all people knew where they were and how to avoid them – but something drew Bruce to check the only place that _wasn't_ under cameras.

In respect not so much of the dead, but of the grief for them.

And there he was.

Covered in soot and ash, hair hanging in matted strands, the boy was finally still, staring down at the graves with such intensity. His clothes were torn and dirty and several dark patches that could only be dried blood stained the cloth.

"Dick."

The boy turned, eyes widening as he realised who it was.

Bruce pushed back the cowl and stepped forward. He laid a hand on Dick's arm. He felt no heat through the glove. Dick was probably freezing.

He took off his cape and draped it around his shoulders. The young man stood as still as a statue.

"Dick?"

Dick looked down at his feet, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sorry." It came out as a mumble.

"You did what you had too."

"I never thought… When I blew that place up, it didn't occur to me you might think I was inside."

He remembered his panic, berated himself for its hold over him, even now. "You weren't thinking clearly, Dick. It's the drug." Strange how none of the turmoil inside him made it into his voice. He didn't even have to try to hide it anymore; it just came as natural as breathing.

"Sometimes-" But Dick's admission snapped off as if he was trying to keep the words back.

Bruce waited. He knew his silent response was more likely to make Dick finish that sentence than all the verbal coaxing in the world.

Dick finally looked up. "Sometimes…" he began. How easy it was push the boy to fall back into patterns – mentor and student, guardian and ward. "Sometimes I think…this is the only time I've ever _been_ thinking clearly."

He hadn't expected that. "It's the drug, twisting what think, what you feel." He counselled. "It's not real."

"Isn't it?" There was anger in his voice. "Or is it just stopping me from rationalising everything and making me see things as they really are?" He turned away. "I'm pumped full of drugs, Bruce! And all I can think of is catching the bad guys? Nothing else mattered, but me out there, chasing up a name I heard once! And then it starts to spill over and I need-" He choked on the memory. "I need someone to….to make it go away… I don't turn to Babs because she'd notice I'm different and call you! And I didn't want that to happen for so many reasons that I don't even want to think about but most of all, because Bludhaven is _my_ town and I need to save it, no matter what." He whirled around, pushing his face right into Bruce's – so very close – no way to avoid those accusing eyes. "Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?"

_Yes._

But the word went unspoken.

Of course he knew. That was _his_ life, _his_ values... He had come to terms with that a long time ago.

And he had handed them down to Dick just as surely as he would one day hand him Wayne Enterprises.

_I'm sorry._

He would do it all again in a heartbeat.

-----

Silence.

Why did he bother sometimes? Bruce wouldn't understand. He never did. He was a good man, Dick loved him with all his heart and soul but he had learned long ago that there was place inside Bruce you couldn't touch, couldn't reach. You either learned to live with that, or you walked away.

And Dick had never been able to walk away.

He turned his back on his mentor, anger dying as quickly as it had grown. He pressed his face into his hands. "I'm so tired." He muttered, almost to himself.

He ached with it, burned with it…but sleep was a long way off. The drug in his system would see to that and the only thing that would take it away, the only cure for this…was more meth.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You stopped this drug from spreading." Bruce said.

No, he didn't understand.

Run away from feelings. Talk business instead.

_Screw that._

"Bruce you don't get it." And although he had meant to snap the words, it simply came out as tired. He looked up at the man who been so intrinsic to him that he didn't know where this man's beliefs began and his own ended. "Right at the end there, I stopped caring! I didn't destroy Blue for Bludhaven." He turned to face Bruce again. "I destroyed it for _me_."

He waited. Nothing. Not a flicker.

"I didn't want to be tempted to take it again," he admitted.

Concern appeared in Bruce's eyes and it warmed him.

"And I was." Just a whisper. "I am."

Bruce clasped the back of his neck, heat against his cold skin. "Then you made the right choice, Dick. For you and for Bludhaven."

He felt Bruce shift then a sharp scratch made him pull away fast. He caught a brief glimpse of the syringe in Bruce's hand.

He rubbed the sore spot on his arm. "Bruce?"

"It's time to come home, Dick."

_No, no…_ Bruce was running away again.

_You either learned to live with that, or you walk away…_

Anger crashed in on him. Well maybe he was done living with it.

Walk away…

But his legs tangled up as the two different drugs in his system warred and he fell, landing on his knees in the freezing grass.

----

Bruce knelt beside the ungraceful heap. The boy raised his head to look at him and the tears in his eyes surprised him.

"I'm already home, Bruce." He sounded so tired. "Right here, right now…with you…"

The boy slumped against him, solid and whole, but so very cold. His eyelids flickered, fighting the massive dose of tranquiliser and Bruce had to strain to hear his last whisper.

"Don't you get that...?"

------

He awoke to the feel crisp linen against his skin, a sensation so familiar and so full of yesterday that he stayed as he was, eyes closed, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed and of the memories.

But as he came more awake and more aware, the aches in various overused limbs began to make themselves known. His body felt like he had gone ten rounds with every single meta in the northern hemisphere and he doubted there was a single muscle he hadn't pulled.

Alfred, in that supernatural way of his, immediately came in with a tray loaded with food. "Good afternoon, Master Dick."

He sat up in the bed. "I slept all day, huh?"

"And all day yesterday." The butler smiled placing the tray across Dick's lap. "You've been asleep for almost 54 hours. Dr Thompkins assures me that's perfectly normal."

Dick picked up a slice of toast and bit into it. "Andrews'll have a fit."

"Detective Andrews? Master Bruce informed him of your convalescence here." Alfred said as he poured Dick a cup of tea. "You are not expected back at work for another week."

Dick sighed and reached for the tea. Now it would be common knowledge he was a Rich Boy.

"Where's Bruce?"

"Master Bruce had some business to attend too, but I will contact him forthwith. No doubt he will be relieved to hear of your recovery."

"When will he be back?"

The butler looked nervous, just for a split second, but Dick caught it. He guessed what Alfred would say before he heard the words.

"Not for the rest of week, I'm afraid." He said. "The matter has taken him to Saudi Arabia. Now, I believe Dr Thompkins said she would give you a physical as soon as you were able…"

Dick slumped back on the pillows and let Alfred's voice fade into the background.

_Running again, Bruce…_

----

"Knock, knock."

Dick turned to see Clancy standing in his doorway with a nervous smile on her face. He had made the mistake of leaving the door half-open. She must have heard him come in and followed. He really didn't want to deal with this right now.

"Hello, Dick." She said, when his lack of response became obvious. Her Irish brogue didn't attract him like it used too.

_I used her._

He came forward. "Clancy, I-"

She put up her hand. "I came to say goodbye." She said. "I'm leavin' in few days."

That stopped him.

"Don't go lookin' like that now." She forced a smile. "It's got very little ta do with you, an' everythin' ta do with me. It's somethin' I've been thinkin' on a while now. The other night just kind of cleared things up fer me."

"I didn't mean…" But his voice trailed off.

She didn't seem to notice though, and he got the feeling her words were well rehearsed and interruptions would only put her off and cause her pain. "Now it's not that I regret what happened between us, but I…I get the feelin' that you'll be the one regrettin' it sooner or later."

"I don't regret it." He told her and meant it. "I regret a lot of this last week, but not that." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I should. But I don't."

She was so near him. And it would be so easy to kiss her. She'd let him. He knew she would.

She stepped back.

"I have some…chores to do." She held out her hand. "It's been a real pleasure meeting ya, Mr Grayson."

He shook her hand. "Good luck."

He watched her go then sank down onto the sofa. If he hadn't been so tired, he would have followed her, tried to make her understand.

But he was. So he didn't. And in the end, what would platitudes do for her? But make _him_ feel better.

On the seat beside him was his bag. More to give himself something to do than an actual attack of tidiness, he opened it and began to unpack.

Alfred had washed and pressed his clothes, even though he had no intention of ever wearing them again. He picked them up and something fell from the pile. It landed at his feet.

He looked down. The baggie of blue crystals lay accusingly on the carpet.

He remembered picking it up before he'd rigged the Bunsen's to set off an explosion. Alfred must have found them in his pocket and undoubtedly knew what they were.

And yet he had left them there.

He had left the choice up to Dick.

The young man sighed. Then slipped them in his pocket.

---

To be concluded…


	11. Epilogue and Coda

**Epilogue – Craven**

Dick tilted back his head and squinted up into the dull winter sun. Titans Tower loomed over him, a huge silhouette that was as much home to him as Wayne Manor was.

It was empty right now; he'd made sure of that. Walking the snow laden ground of the island had brought back so many memories – of better times, of worse times. Back then it always felt like he was going somewhere – like he was on a journey to a specific place. It had been as heady as it had been confusing. But now…

Now he had arrived. He was who he was meant to be – a vigilante, a police officer, a man grown – and yet…

He was back to being as confused as ever. More so, and now there was no place to go.

"Thought I'd find you here."

OK so the tower was not so empty.

Roy Harper leaned against a tree and grinned, "been looking for you."

Dick didn't look in his direction. "Found me."

"Yeah."

He continued walking, forcing his friend to fall into step beside him or be left behind.

"Kind of thought you might be looking for me actually." Roy said, hurrying a little to catch up.

Was he? Probably. Not consciously but somewhere buried under that part of him that had learned you didn't ask for help…maybe.

"I heard. About, well, you know…" Roy said, "figured you could use some advice."

Dick upped his pace.

Roy was forced to break into a jog. "Been there, done that, you know."

His head snapped round. "I'm not _like_ you." It sounded cruel.

"Ouch." Roy stopped walking. "Look, Dick, no one ever thinks it's them 'til it happens."

Dick came to a halt but didn't turn, keeping his back to Roy.

"That's the thing with drugs. It's real equal opportunities – rich, poor, black, white..."

"So you're saying there was never a point when you could walk away?" He snapped. "Because there is. I'm there." Dick turned and pushed spread fingers through his hair. "I know what I could do, what I _want_ to do." He closed his eyes against the burning inside him, the whisper crying out for more meth. "Hell I even know what I _will_ do!" _Probably_. That realisation cluttered at his heart. He opened his eyes to see Roy watching him with a mixture of anger and concern. "Didn't you ever see that point?"

Roy took a breath. "Maybe." He shrugged. "Or maybe I crossed that point the very first time I did drugs. It wasn't an accident like you. I made the choice. And it didn't come out of a healthy place for me." He frowned. "But it made me feel good. And when it wore off, I wanted to feel good again…and again." He paused. "Sometimes…" He looked away. "Sometimes I still do."

Dick looked at his friend. "What stops you?" He needed to know, wanted it to be that simple, even if he knew it wasn't. "Lian?"

"Maybe a little. But mostly…mostly it's knowing that however much I want to, I won't feel that good – first high good – again." He sighed. "Because you never do, Dick. I found that out the hard way. You chase that first hit, but it doesn't happen so you take more and more, trying to get there. And before you know it, it's got you and you _can't_ stop." He looked away but Dick guessed his eyes weren't really seeing anything other than memories. "Knowing that keeps me going. Lian gives me something to keep going _for_."

They fell silent.

Dick looked down at his feet. _I'm not like you._ His own words echoed in his head. He still believed them. Did that make him conceited? In denial?

Just plain wrong?

_Or maybe…_ Dick's lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "Maybe…you're like me then." He told his friend. "We're both at that point."

Roy burst into a grin. "Maybe." He agreed. Then his face fell. "But Dick… That point's forever. Or until…"

"…You cross it." Dick finished, putting his hands in his pockets, fingers curling around the packet hidden there.

They fell into silence after that, and continued walking. When conversation began again, it was safe topics like Lian and Titan's and the JSA.

Finally the light began to dwindle and Roy said his goodbyes. Dick watched him go and then continued his slow circuit of the island, only stopping when he reached the water's edge.

Dick took the packet of Blue from his pocket, still sealed and untouched. The only trace of the drug left. "I already have an addiction." He told the empty air. _It's called Nightwing._

And he drew back his arm and tossed it into the sea.

**Coda –** **Bedshaped.**

January.

Dick had paid for Evie's funeral. No family had come forward to claim her body. No one had cared enough, it seemed, to miss her or mourn her.

The flowers in his hand smelt sweet. He had no idea what kind she liked, or even if she liked flowers at all, so he'd simply chosen roses. White roses - for innocence - and it had struck him as vaguely ironic. He had never felt innocent and he doubted Evie had either.

He laid the flowers against the headstone and whispered a gypsy lament. He stayed there for long moments then stood up and let out a long breath, falling into his thoughts.

Time passed. The man at his side simply waited.

"I could have been her, Alfred." He finally admitted and closed his eyes against the truth he had hidden from Roy and even, from himself. "I thought about it. Part of me even wanted it, wanted to let go."

"Master Dick, you certainly could _not_ have been her!" The elderly butler sounded offended. "Miss Jones was… She was bedshaped."

He frowned. "Bedshaped?"

"Forgive me; it's a term I once heard a long time ago. It means…one who has lost touch with living and is simply…dying, just as surely as if they were on their deathbed." He turned. "You, Master Dick, even at our most desperate hours, were never bedshaped."

Dick remained silent, aware of the beat of his heart. He hoped Alfred's words were true. But he felt a storm coming, from far off and he wasn't so sure.

"Come, Master Dick," the elderly man finally said. "This chill is very hard even on young bones. I dare say we shall both be better for a spot of tea."

Dick sighed and began walking.

At the entrance to the cemetery, he looked back over his shoulder at Evie's grave. Death had set her free from her addiction. He hoped she would rest in peace.

And that he, one day, might find some.

**--Fin--**

This story won the 2007 DFA for Best Action/Adventure. Many, _many_ thanks to the following reviewers, without whom this story would have never got finished – Red Wulf, Ellen, Beth, CindyW, Christine, SahRae, Robin, DC Lady, Lucy, Wendy, Goober787, Charlene, BatThing, Trinilee Greenleaf, Protector of Canon2, amura, WingBat, kokomocalifornia, caltha, Batnightwings, Alleonh, Alle, Wandering Raccoon, Jessi and BatCasity. My apologies if I missed anyone, it wasn't intentional.

Thanks for reading!


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